


Fixing That Which Was Broken

by Reiya_Wakayama



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst, Depression, Drunken sex, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Self-Harm, Slash, Violence, season 2/3 spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-22
Updated: 2013-08-22
Packaged: 2017-12-24 06:40:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/936597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reiya_Wakayama/pseuds/Reiya_Wakayama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gwaine watches silently as Merlin falls apart piece by piece as Arthur falls in love with Gwen and then marries her. Later, he will have to fix up the broken warlock as best he can.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fixing That Which Was Broken

**Author's Note:**

> So I'm a derp, I thought I had posted this months ago, more like a year ago and I was going through looking for it and I couldn't find it. And then I'm like "Wait, where the hell is it?" lols, not posted. Well here it is. XD  
> __________________________________________  
> I decided to write this when I realized there wasn’t enough Gwaine/Merlin out there. This follows the path of the series in the fact that Arthur loves Gwen not Merlin and plans to eventually marry her. There will be spoilers from the series, mainly Arthur/Gwen stuff and Gwaine/Merlin stuff, just to warn you guys. Hope you enjoy, even if it is angsty.

The first time Gwaine saw Arthur and Merlin, he knew there was something between them, some bond. He could see it in the way the warlock would look at the prince with fond exasperation as he was ordering their mead from the bar maid. And in the way Arthur seemed to respect Merlin’s words, even if he pretended to be annoyed with the brunette.

He can see it, destiny stretching far in the distance, going on forever, binding him to these two men. Of course, fate can be a fickle mistress and the fact that he didn’t see the knife until it was too late helped him get his own path to intercept their own interwoven paths.

He grew close to the two over the course of his stay in Camelot, and with a lucky chambermaid as well as trying to get to know Gwen. What can he say, he had always been this way, why change?

Although he only remembers parts of it, the night Merlin drags him from the tavern still stays with him. His heart clenches a little at the almost lost look on Merlin’s face as he speaks of his father. It makes him want to comfort the paler man, tell him that all will be fine. He doesn’t of course; he knows it won’t be fine after such a loss.

The morning after shines a new light on the loss of their fathers. As they work at their punishment‒Arthur is way too strict and needs to learn to lighten up some or that’s what he thinks‒ he can’t help but feel a little envious. To have had the chance to meet his father, even only once, would be the greatest thing in the world. Even as he ignores it, he can’t help but envy Merlin, just a little, for his luck.

After, he rescues Arthur in the melee. Merlin has a way with words when it comes to asking for help, ‒meaning none, how did he do it? It still baffles him‒ he can see it again. Their paths interweaving, tightening until eventually, he won’t be able to leave these two alone, especially Merlin, the ever faithful servant to his arrogant prince.

~*~

The second time, it is Merlin he meets, or in fact Merlin finds him in a tavern brawl, a little like déjà vu. He can’t help but whoop as they run from the men chasing them. It’s just like before, the easy way they fall in together as they set out after Arthur.

When he informs him of Arthur’s quest and that the prat is in danger again, which is why he needs help, he readily agrees, seeing the fun in it, as well as the danger to Arthur as well as Merlin.

Merlin seems surprised when he gives his reason for helping him. But it was the honest truth; the want to help a friend in need, the need to help Merlin. Of course Merlin doesn’t know of the worried face he’s been wearing the whole ride, or the way it affects Gwaine. He’d do anything for Merlin, he’s his only friend!

Arthur of course is his usual royal self when the two rescue him from the wyverns. The look of happiness on Merlin’s face when he finds Arthur says everything Gwaine needs to know. Of course, Arthur doesn’t notice, but Gwaine does and he can’t help but see the fragility of Merlin’s smile as Arthur leaves the room, yelling at him the whole time.

When the hidden door comes down, separating them from Merlin, he sees how Arthur reacts towards Merlin’s endangerment and for a moment, he thinks there’s hope yet for Merlin, for his smile to come back to its full glory. Arthur seems almost desperate to get the door opened, though of course, he is as well.

When the door opens, Arthur seems to become a completely different person from how he acted before. When Arthur just walks past him with just a clap on the shoulder, he can see the confused look on his face.

He shrugs, trying to convey to the paler man that that’s just how Arthur is, and can only hope Merlin got the message, before he’s hugging him, using it as an excuse to check subtly that Merlin is whole and unharmed.

He seems to be fine though, quieter, more subdued, but still his cheeky self. The ride to Camelot’s border is comfortable, the three catching up on the last few months since they last saw the man.

At the border, Gwaine can’t help but watch Merlin as the two continue on without him. He couldn’t help but admit that the two looked good together, light to dark. But Arthur is oblivious of everything and if the slight telltale slump to Merlin’s shoulders is anything to go by, Merlin isn’t going to enlighten his royal prattliness any time soon.

With a frustrated sigh, he turns his horse away and heads south as he said he would. There’s nothing he can do for those two at the moment and even if he wasn’t banished, he isn’t sure there is anything he _could_ do.

~*~

The third time, he thinks it was probably fate…and a little bit of bad luck, that brought the three back together again. When he sees Gile’s men bring them in, he can’t ignore the way his heart skips a beat at the pallor of Merlin’s skin, or the way he hangs limply as they carry his unconscious body into the room.

Arthur’s in just the same condition, but with Merlin, it just looks worse, like the thinner man is about to break if they aren’t careful. He stays back as first Arthur comes to and then Merlin.

He can’t help but smile back at the genuine smile Merlin sends his way at the sight of him. He can also see nothing’s changed between now and the last time he watched them ride away.

Of course the happy reunion is cut short as Gile himself makes his appearance. No good can come from him coming here and he is right. His gut clenches when he points at Merlin as his opponent, though the brunette doesn’t know it yet.

His sigh of relief when Arthur says he’ll fight in his place is almost loud enough to be heard, though the two don’t look his way, or at least not until they hear him call out at Gile’s question. He only hopes they won’t hate him after this.

The fire is too convenient a miracle to fool him. Someone had set it on purpose, and he knew for a fact that it wasn’t him, Arthur, or Gile’s men. It could have been one of the other captives, but if they had magic, why not use it before.

That leaves only one person and the flutter of fear that laces through him is not settling. As they head off through the trees, he can’t help but watch the brunette. When he and Arthur get into a petty argument over the fight and Merlin brings up the fire, he can’t help but see the cautious set of his shoulders, or the smug glint in his eyes at the knowledge that he’d saved them, not the fire.

He can’t help but joke with Merlin when they finally reach the cave, watching the smile flash across his face. The walk to the caves has been long and all are tired. The tension is high as they enter the cave, all on alert to any sign of life.

It appears empty, the last occupants long gone. That is until something makes a small sound. Arthur is quick to pounce and quicker to grab the child from his hiding place, demanding where the Cup of Life is hidden.

The tension is pouring off of both of them as they watch the two, torn between their search for the Cup and the need to keep Arthur from harming the boy. It is taken out of their hands when the Druids appear.

Gwaine’s eyes keep flicking towards Merlin, watching him as Arthur demands they give him the Cup. Merlin is tense, fear of what he might have to do, should they attack, what he might have to reveal, and Gwaine feels fear all over again for Merlin’s life.

Except nothing happened as the druid hands Arthur the Cup, giving ominous words of warning, but at the moment, he could care less. He just wants to get away from the cave and to Camelot, screw Uther’s decree.

For a while, they walk in silence, each in their own thoughts. Then Cenred’s men are on them and they’re running. He doesn’t plan to split up, but one minute, Merlin is there, then he’s gone and then he’s cut off from Arthur.

For a moment, he panics, but when the soldiers can’t find him, they head off in a different direction. Leaving his hiding place among the foliage, he searches through the trees and stumbles upon Arthur unconscious on the ground, with a bolt sticking forth from his leg.

Merlin is nowhere in sight and he calls for him, looking around. Then the paler man appears as if out of nowhere, face grave and worried as he looks upon Arthur. He moves without thought, getting to work removing the bolt. Gwaine thinks it is a good thing Arthur is unconscious, or else when the bolt was removed, he would have passed out from the pain anyways.

As night falls, the slight frown between Merlin’s brows increases, growing deeper as Arthur’s shivering increases, his fever growing higher and higher as the poison eats away at his life from the inside out.

The way Merlin looks at him, asking him to get more fire wood, solidifies his suspicions. Merlin needs to be alone with Arthur, to try another way of healing him, that isn’t medicine or warmth, though the night is cool enough to require a fire.

He messes with him for a moment, trying to lighten the frown momentarily and it does, for a few seconds, but as he turns back once, a glance over his shoulder to look at the warlock, he see the frown deepen even more.

When they awaken at the sound of Arthur’s voice, he can tell all hell is about to break loose. Arthur’s anger seems to hurt Merlin more than an actual punch to the gut would have, making his face fall. He wants to defend the warlock, but Arthur is right. They need to get back before it is too late.

Smoke is everywhere as they walk through the city of Camelot, their path confined to the lower town and its many twists and turns, small streets and alleys hiding them from any guards left posted.

They head for Gwen’s house, hoping she might still live, but when they enter, it appears empty…until Elyan attacks, only stopping as he recognizes them. Arthur looks ready to collapse, from exhaustion, sickness, and the knowledge that Camelot has fallen to an immortal army. He doesn’t even know if his father is alive, nor Gwen, and for a second, his heart goes out to the blonde whose world is crumbling around him.

They set off towards the castle anyways, Arthur’s face frantic in his need to know if his father is gone. But even the prince must succumb to exhaustion, his face pale and covered in sweat and ash from the fires.

Merlin takes charge when the stubborn prince won’t stop. Gwaine hears him ignore the prince’s orders as he and Elyan head for the dungeons. He knows, without a doubt, that he is taking Arthur to Gaius’s domain. Even if Gaius isn’t there, he knows enough to at least be of some help to the prince until they can regroup.

He wants to rebel when Arthur orders him and Elyan to take Gaius out of the castle. The two shouldn’t be left alone; they could get killed without someone to watch their backs, even if Merlin has magic.

But he sees the way Merlin is watching his prince, a sad, almost knowing look in his eyes, as if he knows what is about to happen, what has caused this and for a moment, Gwaine wonders if that is true, but the next instant, it is gone.

He and Elyan leave, taking Gaius with them, leaving Arthur and Merlin to find out what is happening and hopefully, not to be killed. He looks once more at the paler man, taking in his firm resolve, memorizing his features, doing the same for Arthur and hoping that this won’t be the last time he sees them.

~*~

The fourth time he meets up with the two, the relief is unimaginable, the tightness in his chest loosening, a laugh bubbling up in his chest which he couldn’t have stopped even if he tried. So instead, he lets it free, running up to give them pats on the back, taking in the subdued atmosphere around them.

For the rest of the day and into the night, the two were subdued, deep in thought. But as the sun rose, Merlin seemed to shake it off, greeting the new day with, if not a smile, than a renewed will. After Merlin’s explanation, he wasn’t surprised that Arthur was depressed.

He’d never met Morgana, but he had seen her from a distance, Gwen at her side, the ever faithful handmaid. Thinking of Gwen made him hope she was alright as he looked towards Arthur. He knew there was something going on between Arthur and the dark skinned woman, but he wasn’t sure how serious it was.

Shrugging the worry off, he walked out of the cave, taking Elyan’s place as sentry. The sound of running feet has him looking up to see Merlin sprinting through the trees, glancing over his shoulder to check for what, he’s not sure, but can guess just as easily.

Following him into the cave, he listens to Merlin’s words briefly before heading back outside, on alert just in case they saw where he disappeared to.

As night falls, the tension increases. As they all lay down, they wonder what will happen on the marrow. His eyes flick over to Merlin, who looks like he’s about to collapse, but refusing to let himself sleep.

When Gwaine comes back after relieving himself, Merlin is wide awake, face pale, and eyes wide and slightly damp. He tries to reassure him that he is just fine, but he can see right through him. Something has happened that the warlock doesn’t wish to share; something painful and close to the heart.

The next morning, Merlin is gone from where he had lain during the night. He isn’t too concerned; he’s probably just keeping watch. He appears a few hours later, looking tired, but pleased, and the hurt look from the night before gone.

The sound of voices draws them all out of the cave, hiding just in case the enemy has found them. He doesn’t expect to find Gwen, disheveled and tired looking, nor the knight that is with her. Apparently, neither did Arthur and the surprised look on his face says a lot.

There’s hugging and exclamations as the two checks to make sure the other is well and then they are running, Morgause’s men having caught up with them. Their cornered, trapped when the rock fall saves them, announcing the arrival of two more people.

Lancelot and Percival. He can’t help but see the look that passes between Gwen and Lancelot, and know that Merlin isn’t the only one who is hurt in this love square. Eventually, the knots tying them together have to break and when they do, who knows who will be hurt the most.

The castle of the ancient kings is dark, musty, and damp. But it is shelter, and it provides them a place to plan without having to worry too much about Morgause’s men finding them. Soon, they have fire and light, water from an abandoned well.

As they sit around the round table, he can see it. Destiny, massed in the center of them, the moment that will define the future and in the center of it all stand Arthur and Merlin, the two that brought them all together.

He will admit that what Arthur did next was a surprise he hadn’t been expecting. As he asks the four of them to kneel, he looks up at first the prince, and then Merlin. The warlock is positively beaming, happiness seeming to seep from his pours as they are knighted and then stand.

That night, Gaius isn’t the only one awake that listens to Merlin and Lancelot talk. As he listens to the two’s plan, he agrees whole heartedly with the newly made knight. Merlin is always there, always fighting, always hiding himself, lowering himself to hide in plain sight.

He is the bravest of them all, and Arthur is still oblivious to it, oblivious to the loyalty Merlin gives to him, the way Merlin puts his life on the line every time to save the prince. Arthur sees nothing but a clumsy servant who is sometimes a friend, and Gwaine fears that that is all Merlin will ever be in Arthur’s eyes. It’s a saddening realization.

Still, they move out the next morning, each with their own strengths that will be needed to take back Camelot. Getting in is surprisingly easy. It’s trying to stay alive against an immortal army that takes its toll on their group. Even when the rest of the knights start fighting, they are drastically out numbered.

He can’t even guess what’s happened to Merlin and Lancelot. He knew they weren’t going after the alarm bell, but they must have still met soldiers on their way through the castle. He prays for their safe return, even as he fights for his own life.

When the enemy mysteriously vanishes in a shower of sparks and dust, he can only assume that Merlin accomplished what he set out to do. When he hears Elyan call for him, worry lacing his voice, he can’t help but joke with him, relief at still being alive coursing through his body as he steps out from the tunnel he’d been backed into, reminding them that it’s ‘Sir Gwaine’.

By the next day, everything seems to have settled down. The last of the fires are out, and crews are going around, looking for any fallen soldier that fell in the invasion. Already plans are being made to fix what has been destroyed, including parts of the wall that took a beating.

The rest of them are sent out to bring Gwen back, since she’s all alone up in the abandoned castle. Arthur is waiting for them as they ride in, his face alight as he sees Gwen. One look at Lancelot shows a barely concealed look of pain as he watches the two embrace.

He already knows what Merlin will look like, but still, he must look. The warlock looks defeated, eyes shut off from the world as his heart cracks. He is still whole, but one little thing could send his heart crashing to the ground to break into so many tiny shards that rip at his already hurting body.

And still there is nothing he can do. He is here now in Camelot, but it makes little difference. Merlin will always hope, up until the day of Arthur’s marriage, and they all know he will marry Gwen. He just hopes that when that day comes, he can put the pieces back together.

~*~

Months slowly pass, the seasons the only real measurement of time passing. It seems with each new week, Arthur takes on more and more of Uther’s duties, forced to bear the mantle of Prince Regent. He bears the duty of the king, but only has the power of the crown prince.

Winter passes into spring and with it Uther. None are surprised, especially Gaius, who spent the last few weeks of winter tending to the ailing king. After Morgana’s betrayal, he had never been the same, often spending hours, days at a time hiding in his rooms.

Gaius said that the shock of the betrayal had shattered his mind in ways that nothing else could. He said that if he survived, it would still take years for him to heal, but Uther was not a young man anymore.

It was a simple cold that killed him though. None of them thought too much about it. It was a common sickness this time of year. Except it didn’t go away, it set into his lungs, restricting his breathing, making his chest rattle with each indrawn breath.

He dies as the first flowers begin to bloom. He is buried two days later next to Ygraine in the catacombs beneath the castle. The day after he is buried, Arthur is made king. The first week, he spends in mourning, keeping mainly to himself in his rooms. The only people with regular access to him are Merlin and Gwen. The first is there to look after him, the latter to comfort him.

Each time he sees Merlin, the hollow look in his eyes is bigger, the pain he is hiding from the world, a little more exposed. He knows that soon, Arthur will most likely make the announcement.

A few days into the next week, Arthur seems to pull himself together. He calls the five of them, his most trusted knights to him. He says they are going on a patrol. That Arthur just wants to get away from the castle full of memories for the day is obvious.

When he asks, Gaius says that Merlin has gone out to collect herbs for him. Arthur looks piqued, but just shrugs it off, sending another servant to get his horse ready. Gwaine just smirks, enjoying seeing the prince‒no, King‒ get riled up because his manservant is busy elsewhere and out of reach.

The ride is easy, the five chatting about nothing in general as they keep an eye peeled for any trouble. As they reach a fork in the trail, something seems to catch Arthur’s attention. He leans off to the side of his horse, hand snagging something from the brambles that lines the path.

It’s a piece of cloth, faded blue and fraying at the edges. He can’t help but think it is familiar. “Sire…” Leon calls out.

“This is Merlin’s.” He says simply. They all start looking around for the paler man. He’s nowhere in sight. Arthur is examining the ground, trying to see which way the man had gone. He doesn’t have to look long before the sound of metal striking wood draws their gazes to the east.

No one says a word as they spur their mounts on in the direction of the noise. They reach a small cliff that looks down into a clearing of trees. Merlin is there, back pressed up against a tree as he faces some unknown man, a bandit most likely.

The cliff is too high for their horses to jump from safely, but not too high for a human. They’re moving, but it seems to take too long. The man has advanced, hand grappling to find purchase on the paler man’s throat, sword raised to kill.

None of them move as Merlin’s eyes flash gold and then the man is flying back, too far for a human to throw. The clearing is deathly silent as they listen to Merlin’s ragged breathing, on his hands and knees as he fights for breath.

Just as suddenly as the clearing froze, it unfroze, Arthur moving forward, shoulders tight with tension as he advances on Merlin. Merlin looks up at the sound of his footsteps, having not heard him jump down to the clearing. All blood seems to drain from his face as he takes in the expression on Arthur’s face.

His eyes are wide, like a deer caught in the sight of someone’s bow. He seemed unable to move as Arthur drew closer, stopping only a few feet away from the prone warlock. None of them can hear what is said between them, but from the looks of Merlin, it is not good.

They all jump when Arthur lashes out, fist connecting with a wet thump against Merlin’s face, sending him reeling backwards. He turns after that, walking back to where they stand waiting on the small cliff.

He climbs it easily, leaving the warlock lying there, too stunned to move or say anything to the retreating king. They all run to comply with his order to mount up. Only Gwaine looks back to see the stricken look on Merlin’s face before the trees cut him off from view.

Arthur leaves them in the courtyard to lock himself in his room again. The guards are forbidden to let anyone in unless he says so. They tell the knights later that they heard some things breaking inside.

Merlin doesn’t come back that night. Arthur appears not to notice, having come out to have dinner. Gwen is no longer a servant, having a place at the table with Arthur and the five other knights.

Two days later and the warlock still hadn’t appeared. Gaius is worried. Gwaine had explained what had happened and wasn’t surprised to see that the physician knew of Merlin’s magic. Even Arthur, after he finally calmed down enough to see reason, is showing worry.

Gwaine offers to look for him and the relief on Arthur’s face is enough to show that he regretted how he acted towards Merlin. He leaves soon after, his horse eating away the distance from where they had last seen the warlock.

He is not there of course, though the body of the bandit is. Already it is decaying and it stinks greatly. Urging his horse around it, he tries to decide where to check next. The cave they had hidden in would be his next guess, so he turns his mount around and heads off.

It is empty, only a few piece of what they had left behind when they had run remained and they were slowly rotting in the damp of the cave. There is only one other place he can think of, that the paler man might go to besides an inn.

Following the trail he sets off in search of the castle of the ancient kings. It is getting on towards dark, when he arrives. Glad to have packed supplies, just in case, he leads his mount into the weed infested courtyard, tumbled stones littering it where the walls had come down due to age.

It is quiet, but that means nothing. Tying the horse up where it can get food and pulling up a bucket of water from the well, he’s still surprised the bucket is there, he sets off to look around for the warlock.

He finds him surprisingly easy. A small fire is going and it appears to be magical, for there is no fuel. The man in question is curled up along the wall; jacket bundled up into a ball for a pillow.

The bruises around his neck and on his cheek where Arthur struck him stand out sharply against his waxy complexion. He looks like he hasn’t eaten in the last two day and has barely drank anything either.

Sighing, he sits down against the wall, taking in the wet lines on his face, the way his eyes flicker constantly under his pale lids, as if he is caught in some dream he can’t escape. There are more cracks in him, enlarging the ones already there.

He sits there for the rest of the night, running a gentle hand in the warlock’s ebony locks when he starts to jerk in his sleep, as if caught in a nightmare. The paler man soon quiets under his hand and the night continues on, marching towards dawn.

He must have dozed off sometime towards dawn, because he is being shaken awake by a gentle hand. Blinking blurry and gritty eyes, he looks up to see Merlin kneeling next to him, eyes red, but dry. He smiles at the nervous warlock.

“Why are you here, Gwaine?” He asks simply.

“To find you and bring you back home. Everyone is worried about you.” He replies, hoping the truth will convince the hurting man that Camelot deserves a second chance…that Arthur deserves a second chance.

“Why should I go back? Arthur made it perfectly clear that I was not wanted in Camelot. The only reason I haven’t left completely is because I can’t bring myself to leave.” His shoulders are tense, hands fisted as he fights a war with his own emotions, but his rational side wins and he is able to suppress them enough to think straight.

“Merlin…Arthur overreacted, yes, but he soon regretted it. That is why I am here, to bring you back.” He lays a hand on his shoulder and the warlock doesn’t shove it off, though his muscles are so tense he almost seems to tremble.

“Then why did it take three days for him to send someone to look for me?”

He can’t help but sigh at Merlin’s tenaciousness. He understands why he asks, though. The need to try and fill in some of the cracks is overwhelming, a hope that by filling them, it will prevent future ones from forming.

“Enough, Merlin. You know, better than anyone else, that Arthur, just like any other Pendragon, needs time to cool down enough to see reason. I think it’s some family trait.” That actually brings a smile to his face and he can see some of the cracks healing, others filling in with false hopes.

“Now, come on. I want to get back before I have to spend another night outside.” He says, standing to his feet. Merlin hesitates for a moment, but takes his extended hand.

~*~

The ride back to Camelot is silent, both on one horse. It is a slow pace, but they eventually reach Camelot some time past noon. As they ride through the town, none seem to notice them, or if they do, they don’t care enough to show any sign.

Arthur, Gwen, and Gaius are already on the steps when he reins in his horse. He can see it from here, the guilty look on Arthur’s face as he takes in the black and blue bruise spreading over the right side of Merlin’s face.

Gwen doesn’t see him though, eyes only for Merlin at the moment, as she throws her arms around the warlock. She berates him and welcomes him back, all in one breath. None of them are surprised though. She has already lost one friend to magic, and her father to an accusation. She doesn’t want to lose another.

Gaius and Gwen lead the paler man away, the physician sending one glance to Arthur before he is cut off from sight by the doors. The courtyard is silent, or as silent as it can be. Eventually, Arthur walks over to where he stands by the horse.

“How badly have I messed up?” He asks quietly, wanting to keep the knowledge of his failings private between the two of them.

“You still have a manservant, if that is what you want to know. As for a friend, it may take a while. You don’t even see how much of his life he has devoted to you, do you?” Gwaine doesn’t hold back his punches just because Arthur is king and has just lost his father. This is why he is here; to make the man hurt, to make him see what is in front of him, what he will soon lose if he stays on the path he is on.

But it is too late. Arthur’s path had been set long before now, when Gwaine might have helped him see. He must follow his path to the end, and face the consequences. Gwaine is only here for damage control, the damage of one person in particular.

“I just…I felt so much anger…and now…I don’t know what to say.” He admitted softly, looking like Arthur the man, instead of Arthur the king.

“Perhaps an apology and an explanation are in order?”

“You…you’re right. I’ll…I’ll talk to him later this afternoon, let him rest.” It was the best he would get out of the blonde. Arthur was king now, busier than ever he had been as prince. Nodding, Gwaine left, hoping he had done enough to help his friend enough in the end.

~*~

They say time heals all wounds, and sometimes that is true. But what they don’t say is how much waiting for the wound to happen can hurt even more. It has been a few months since that tragic few days, and it seems Merlin has mended enough to keep going on.

There is one change though, that seems to help. Arthur had made a promise to the warlock, that he would make the slow process of repealing all magic bans, except certain ones. The first thing he did though was remove the penalty of imprisonment and execution.

For the first time in years, Camelot sighs in relief, a cleansing breeze sweeping through the city and castle, clearing away hidden malice left over by the late king. The sun seems to shine brighter, the days more cheerful. Already, new people start to trickle back into Camelot, those who feared to return under pain of death.

Such cheerfulness is not meant to last for one person. He has watched as slowly as Arthur and Gwen becomes closer than ever, spending almost all of Arthur’s free time together. He knows that Merlin can see it as well, for he is often sent off on some obscure set of chores when they wish to be alone. Often times, Gwaine will spend time with Merlin on these days, keeping the breaking warlock company, trying to distract him from the future.

It is now three months from the revealing of Merlin’s magic and Arthur calls his court for some announcement. As the crowd quiets, Arthur stands tall and proud in front of his people. “Today, I wish to announce two things to you, my people. A few on my council have been pressing me to announce whom I will wed, to continue on my line and the Pendragon dynasty. Well, I have made my decision.” The room is silent, all holding their breath for the announcement.

Arthur seems to glow as he turns towards Gwen, the smile on his face the epitome of love and caring. "Guinevere, step forward.” Gwen’s face is flushed in embarrassment, but she smiles just as much as he. “I ask, before all these witnesses, will you take this king’s heart, and guard it closely next to yours as my wife?” He says loudly.

“I…yes.” She finally breathes out, eyes bright with tears of happiness. Gwaine takes one look at Merlin, at the fixed smile on his face, and sees the large crack down his center. He is barely holding himself together, a few desperate hopes all that remain, and that can only live until the official wedding.

The crowd has quieted down again, sensing the king’s need to speak again. “There is one more announcement to make, one that has been many years in the making.” This time his gaze lands on the warlock. “Merlin, son of Balinor and Hunith, step forward.” Merlin is frozen for a second under the gaze of those gathered as they turn to look at him.

Slowly, with a helpful push from Gwaine, he steps forward until at last he is in front of Arthur. His knees give out and he kneels before his king. “Since the first time I met you Merlin, you were not what I expected. Insolent, argumentative, pushing and prodding me, you challenged my very upbringing and inlaid ideals about both peasants and nobles.”

The crowed is following every word. “And yet, if it were not for you, I would not be the king I am today and for that, I am indebted. Although few know of it, you have risked your life constantly, protecting me, protecting my father, and protecting Camelot with your magic and knowledge. Today, I wish to honor your loyalty.”

“From this day forth, you will be a free man and my advisor in all things arcane and magical. Rise and be proud of what you have accomplished.” There are tears on his face, though from happiness or pain, he can’t tell.

~*~

The wedding is set for two weeks from the day of the announcement. The whole kingdom is abuzz over the news, the castle staff already getting to work on the wedding decorations and things for the feast to celebrate afterwards.

For the most part, everyone is too busy to dwell on anything but the wedding. For Merlin this is the worst thing to dwell on. After Arthur appoints him to magical advisor, he throws himself into his work, days spent in consultation of books, scrolls, manuscripts, and most often Gaius.

Whenever he has free time, he heads to Merlin’s rooms, given to him for his new station. They are large, though he only has three rooms. One is his bedroom, where he spends the least amount of time. He has a main room where he can meet with people, should he need to. So far, no one has come to meet with him yet and it acts mainly as a dining room when he is too busy to show up to dinner with them, which is often.

The last, the largest, is his study. A large desk is set up in it, covered with paper, quills, ink pots and anything else he might need including an assortment of crystal paper weights, candles, and a vase of flowers courtesy of Gwen. One entire wall is taken up by a book shelf that is slowly, but steadily filling up with books. There are books on many subjects, ranging from herb lore, to mythology and history. One stands out from the rest, its pages locked with a clasp, a space made for it alone. His book of spells, though he has found others among Uther’s treasures in his vaults, is the main one he consults.

Many an afternoon and evening has been spent in that room, talking with Merlin as he flicks through book after book, looking for anything of value in it, the pages moved by magic. Although the others have gotten used to it, only he and Lancelot seem to be totally comfortable with it. Leon is understandable, after training under first Uther and then Arthur. Elyan’s unease is also understandable, having lost his father to Uther’s hatred of magic.

Percival is the newest among them and though Lancelot vouches for him, few know his true feeling towards anything yet. Arthur is the hardest to gauge. At times, he seems totally at ease with it, even asking Merlin to do this or that with his magic to help out the kingdom. But then Merlin will do something, some strange piece of magic, and the fear will flash through his eyes momentarily.

Gwaine isn’t sure if Merlin has seen these moments. The last few weeks before the wedding, he seems to have kept a tight rein on his emotions, a false smile always in place. It seems that as the date of the wedding draws closer, he becomes more withdrawn, spending more and more time in his room, staying up late into the night. Gwaine knows this from a couple nights of patrol on the castle wall, eyes straying towards Merlin’s window which is the only one that is lit so late into the night. Even Arthur’s window is dark as he sleeps.

~*~

The day of the wedding dawns bright, something he knows is Merlin’s doing. He cast a spell that holds off the rain clouds until after the wedding, he says it will pour for some hours later that night and sends warnings to the guards to spread through the town so no one gets caught out in it.

Gwaine, already dressed in his armor and crimson cloak, sits back as he watches Merlin finish dressing. The last two weeks haven’t been kind to the warlock. He is pale, the skin around his eyes, mouths, and ribs is drawn, showing the pale bone underneath and making him look gaunt.

He hasn’t been eating properly, no matter how much Gaius lectures him, and he has lost weight. Guarded eyes are seated above deep shadows, testament to too many long nights. As he tugs on his dark blue tunic, ironically a gift from Gwen to wear to the wedding, he notices something that stands out against Merlin’s pale skin.

Standing, he stalks silently up behind him and grabs his wrist before he can get away. Pulling back the sleeve of his white undershirt, he stares down at the angry red cuts that crisscross his pale wrist. They are shallow and already healing and he can see a few scars from past cuts. Most appear to be resent, looking only days old. “Merlin?” He asks, fearing the answer the warlock might give him.

“It’s nothing.” He lies easily enough, though his back is to him and Gwaine can’t see the flinch on his face as he lies.

“Merlin…”

“I said drop it, Gwaine.” His voice rough, like he’s holding back tears.

“I’m sorry.” He doesn’t know if he is apologizing for prying, for Arthur’s stupidity, for the pain he is feeling, or something else that he can’t name. Releasing his arm, he steps back. “I’ll save you a spot.” Merlin only nods in assent, his back still to Gwaine, his shoulders tense.

~*~

The throne room is packed, everyone crowded into the room to watch the wedding of their king to his chosen bride. No one had said a word about his choice in bride, too many have died in Morgana’s coup of Camelot and just wanted a happily ever after. The fact that Gwen was one of the people and not of noble blood drew Arthur’s people even closer to him. His advisors had decided to pretend it was a well-placed political move and not one of love.

The ceremony is short, not what one would expect for the wedding of a king. It seems to end soon after it is begun. The applause is the only indicator that it is official until Geoffrey lifts the Queen’s crown from its velvet pillow, different from the one Morgana had worn, and places it on her head.

He is stood next to Merlin on his left, Lancelot and the rest of Arthur’s personal knights to his own left. The smile on his face is well placed, looking as normal as it ever did. He seems to be genuinely happy for his king and friend. But Gwaine has had plenty of time to learn to see past the glamor of his smile.

He is watching the warlock as the two take their seat on the two thrones there. He watches as the final creak appears, striking deep into his core and out the other side. He slowly falls apart, the pieces shattering on the cold ground.

Gwaine will have his work cut out for him, but he will fix the warlock. He has learned one very important piece of information from their adventures. Magic can live without courage, for he has it in abundance. But without strength, magic would have been lost long before this, because sometimes, all magic can rely on is strength to hold him up when he needs help.

~*~

He doesn’t know when, but sometime through the feast, Merlin leaves. None notice, too absorbed in their own conversations or their drink to care. Excusing himself with some excuse or other, he’s not sure what he said really, he make his way out of the feasting hall and into the dimly lit hallways, empty of life as everyone enjoys the feast.

Merlin was right though, about the rain. It is coming down in sheets outside, shortening anyone’s vision down to just a few feet in any direction. Casting about for some idea of where the warlock has gone off to, he decides to try his rooms first.

They are empty, cold and dark since the fire is out. He spends the next hour searching known haunts of the warlock, he soon finds himself at a dead end when each proves to be empty. It is howling outside, the wind rattling the shutters, causing the torches to flicker and cast shadows.

It hits him then, where the warlock has hidden. The one place no one would willingly go at this moment in time. Turning around, he heads east, towards the center of the castle. As he is met with a spiral staircase, he grabs one of the torches beside the door and starts his journey up.

The air chills and stirs the flames of the torch as he ascends higher. At the top, the wooden door, all that blocks out the wind and rain, rattles with each mighty gust. Setting his torch in a bracket, he steps up grabs the door, holding on with a firm grip as he opens it.

The wind nearly snatches it from his hand, but he holds on grimly. The light from the torch behind him illuminates the area outside enough to let him see. It is dark and wet, and huddled in ball at the bottom of the wall that surrounds the viewing platform, he finds Merlin.

Sighing, he shuts the door behind him, already drenched in rain, cutting off the light except for a small sliver that shines through the cracks around the door. Crouching down, he crawls over to the warlock, the man paler than usual with cold, and his lips slightly blue. He is shivering constantly but refuses to get up and though he can’t tell if the water on his face is rain or tears, he can see dimly that his eyes are red rimmed.

“Merlin.” He calls loud enough to be heard over the wind. “We need to get inside.” He tugs on his arm gently and he follows obediently, too broken to resist him at the moment. Wrestling with keeping the warlock from being blown away and getting the door opened, he eventually gets them into the stairwell, both of them dripping wet and shivering.

The walk back to his rooms, Merlin’s are cold with no fire, is quick and uneventful. Shutting his door behind them, he quickly strips Merlin from his sodden clothes with an impassive touch, quickly throwing a blanket around his bare shoulders and sitting him in front of the fire.

Pouring both of them a glass of warmed cider, he shoves the pewter goblet into his pale hands. They sit in silence for another ten minutes before eventually; Merlin stirs, lifting the goblet to his lips to sip the slightly cooled drink.

“Do you want to talk about it?” He asks quietly, looking at the paler male.

He doesn’t say anything, but his eyes get glassy, filling with tears he is trying to hold back. Grabbing his goblet, he sets both down on his bedside table and sits back down, closer, to the male. Wrapping an arm around his trembling shoulders, he draws him in, angling his head to rest in the crook of his shoulder and neck.

His cries are silent, his whole body shaking with the force of them. Gwaine can feel his hands clutching at his shirt, needing something to hold to ground him in reality. As they sit there, arms wrapped around each other, for different reasons, Gwaine lays the foundation he will use to slowly put the warlock back together.

~*~

As he shuts the door behind him, he hears someone call his name and turns to face his king. “Gwaine, why are you coming out of Merlin’s room?” He looks at the bundle of clothes in his knight’s hands. “With his clothes?”

Gwaine forces a laugh, hoping the king won’t see the wet spot on his shoulder or the crinkled clothe from Merlin’s tight grip. “Oh, well, Merlin had a little too much to drink tonight and decided to take a walk in the rain. He sleeping it off in my rooms, but I thought it would be good to get him some dry clothes.” The lie is easy, laced with some truths. Merlin had had a little too much to drink tonight and had gone out into the storm, just not for the reasons Arthur would assume.

“Oh, that’s good. You might want to see Gaius in the morning about his hangover remedy.” He smiles, mind already somewhere else, contemplating his wedding night.

“Of course, Arthur.” He nods and watches the king leave, a little bit of hate for the blonde springing into life for breaking his friend so, but he lets it go. Fate is a cruel mistress and if this was what she had meant to happen, than none of them was truly to blame.

~*~

Back in his rooms, Merlin sleeps, curled in a ball underneath a couple of blankets, letting oblivion comfort him. If Gwaine had slipped a little of Gaius’s tonic for dreamless sleep into his cider, than it was only to allow him to sleep peacefully.

Gwaine spends the night like he did so many months ago in the castle of the ancient kings, when he had been searching for the warlock. Merlin doesn’t even stir as he slides under the blankets next to him, back propped up against the headboard, his ever present protector against the harsh world outside the door.

Dawn arrives, and this time, he is the one who wakes first, shaking Merlin’s shoulder gently to rouse him. Merlin wears a sheepish, but grateful smile when he looks up at Gwaine.

He turns his back as the warlock dresses. When he says he is done, he turns back around. “How are you feeling?”

The paler man sits down next to him, staring down at his fidgeting hands. “Hurting, but compared to last night, better. Thank you, for last night. I wasn’t thinking straight. I owe you one.” He says softly.

“Then I will collect right now. You must promise me that you will stop this.” He grabs his wrist, where the scars are hidden under a shirt sleeve. “If you need to vent, then come talk to me, but don’t take it out on yourself. Swear you won’t do it again.”

“I…I swear I won’t.” He looks him in the eye as he says it and Gwaine believes him. “I should probably get going. I’ve a lot of work to do.” He stands with a watery smile, but it is more genuine than any he has worn in a long time. Standing as well, he sees the warlock out, watching him until he turns a corner and is taken from his sight.

~*~

The weeks after the wedding are long and tedious, with many emissaries arriving with gifts for the newlyweds and letters from their respective liege lords wishing them luck and good fortune and expressing hopes that the treaties his father made with them are still in effect.

A few of the kingdoms that Uther had refused to treat with because of the acceptance of magic also send representatives, hoping that this new king will be better than the last. Merlin is kept busy, meeting with Arthur and the rest of his advisors, sitting in court sessions, dealing with any magical problem that arises. 

Gwaine spends as much time as he can with the warlock, keeping him company, giving him a kind ear to vent on, a shoulder to lean on, and each time, he picks up another piece and puts it in its proper place.

Most of his time though is spent getting Merlin’s habits back into their right order. He already has the head cook on his side, helping him by sending meals that will help plumb the emaciated warlock back up. He also has asked Gaius to help him out and the physician readily agrees, showing up each night at the warlock’s rooms to talk with him, Gwaine doesn’t know what about, and to administer his dreamless sleep tonic.

Already he appears healthier, not so gaunt or sleep deprived. If he is not his old self, than at least he looks it. His clothes have slowly changed as well, courtesy of both Arthur and Gwen, saying that an advisor should dress like one, not like a servant. These clothes are all cut to actually fit him instead of hanging off him like sacks, making him look like the advisor he should be.

Slowly, weeks turn into months and summer into autumn. The change of color is sudden, turning the land to fire as the leaves change and start to fall. It has been three months since Arthur and Gwen were wed and slowly, Merlin moves past it.

He still looks at Arthur with pain filled eyes, but it no longer holds sway over him. He is able to keep functioning, keep living. If he spends more and more time in Gwaine’s company or some of the other knights company than Arthur’s, no one notices or says so. Gwaine feels this is a good sign that his friend is slowly healing from the hurt.

So he decides it is time to celebrate this small victory and promptly drags the protesting warlock to the nearest pub and pours cup after cup of ale down his throat…or tries to, but after his third cup, Merlin is already tipsy. He knew his friend was a lightweight, but really, this was taking it beyond lightweight.

Draining the last of what was in his cup; he paid their tab and pulled the giggling and graceless sorcerer from the pub and back up to the castle. It is nearing midnight and the castle is asleep except for the guards who patrol it.

They take one look at the intoxicated warlock and let them in, smiling the whole time. Merlin may not have noticed it, but many of the people around the castle were quiet fond of him, from his years as serving as Arthur’s manservant and taking the brunt of Arthur’s anger off of the other servants and guards. When he had become so depressed, many had grown worried.

Gwaine shushed him as he tried to sing, off key and at the top of his lungs. “Shh, you’ll wake the castle.” But he is grinning from ear to ear as it is.

They make it to Gwaine’s room, it is closer than Merlin’s tower one, and fall through the door, the wooden barrier banging against stone and bouncing back to shut as they land in a pile of limbs on the floor, Merlin giggling on top of the knight.

Then, one minute, they’re both laughing, and the next Merlin bends down and presses his lips to Gwaine’s, silencing him mid-laugh. Gwaine just lies there, letting the warlock kiss him. As he pulls back, he can see the barely concealed desperation in his eyes. “Merlin…” His voice is rough from repressed emotions.

“Please, just…I just want…” He can’t seem to finish his sentence. But Gwaine knows what he is asking. The want, to just be loved and cared for, even if it’s just one night. He wonders how long Merlin has been hiding this, pushing the need away.

“Oh, Merlin…” He says on a sigh, but doesn’t push him away. Gently, he pulls him down, arms wrapping around the shaking warlock, holding him close. Sighing, he cups his face in his broad palms, bringing his face up to his, kissing his trembling lips softly.

It becomes a slight blur after that, the alcohol in their system distorting the whole event. Somehow they make it to his bed, yanking the bedclothes back, leaving the sheets bare. Clothes fly everywhere, fingers clumsy on knots due to ale and lust fogged minds.

Merlin is pale, almost as pale as the sheets below him and he contrasts sharply with Gwaine’s darker skin. Both are in too much of a hurry to prolong this. One hand clutching the sheets as Merlin runs fine boned fingers over his arousal, the other groping blindly for the vial of oil he knows is in the drawer of the bedside table.

Merlin just gasps beneath him as he prepares him, canting his hips forward and fucking himself on his fingers, relishing in the pain, in the burn of penetration. He works fast, using a liberal amount of oil to smooth the way and to keep the pain and damage to a minimum.

Merlin keens softly as he withdraws his fingers, hips following the burn. Holding his hips down with one hand, he lines up and presses forward, hissing the tight heat that slowly encases him.

Merlin’s eyes are screwed shut, mouth opened slightly as he pulls in shuddering breaths. He nods an indefinite time later, opening his eyes a crack. He shifts his knees, bracing himself with elbows and hands as Gwaine pulls back and surges forward, his legs draped over his broad shoulders. 

Neither last long, moving against each other as they chase their high. Merlin falls first, and if he shouts Arthur’s name, Gwaine ignores it, continuing to piston his hips forward until his release hits and he groans as he fill the warlock below him.

They lay there, a mass of tangled, sweaty limbs, chests heaving. Eventually, he pulls out, falling onto his side next to the paler man. Sitting up, he pulls the blankets up and over them, pulling Merlin close. They can worry and regret in the morning, for now, it is time to sleep. He pulls him close and Merlin just clings to him. If he feels hot tears sliding over his skin, he ignores them, just running a soothing hand over his back until he falls asleep.

~*~

He awakens to the blanket being thrown off of him and Merlin scrambling around the room, searching for his clothing. He doesn’t say anything, just watches him as he dresses, shame painting his cheeks red. He knew this would happen when he’d given into Merlin’s pleas, but it still hurts a little.

Merlin’s nearly finished dressing when he notices Gwaine is awake and watching him. The red deepens, though more from embarrassment then shame as he notices Gwaine is still naked, the blanket at his feet.

“Merlin…”

“Gwaine, please, not now. I just…I need time to think.” He rushes to the door, pulling it open. Just before it shuts, he hears “I’m sorry.” And then Merlin is gone. Groaning, he rolls over, thumping the pillow with a clenched fist, taking his anger out on it.

Why had he listened to the warlock? He knew he was drunk, hell they both were, but he had been more sober than Merlin had been. Now, Merlin probably hated him and all the work he had put into helping his friend heal would be ruined.

Sighing, he got up. He might as well go to practice. It serves him right to go through that with the pounding headache he had at the moment. Sighing again, he started cleaning up his scattered clothing. He found Merlin’s neckerchief hidden under his shirt. Keeping hold of it, he dressed, tucking the cloth into his pouch. He’d return it later, when he had time and when he had given Merlin enough time to think.

~*~

It is dark by the time, he finds himself free. He hasn’t seen any sign of Merlin since he ran out this morning, but it’s not surprising. When Merlin wanted to hide, he knew how to do it so no one could find him until he wanted them too.

So instead of trying to look, he waits. A week goes by and though he has only caught a brief glimpse of the warlock only twice in this time, he isn’t worried. Merlin will come to him when he is ready and has thought everything through.

That night a week later, he finds himself in his bed, book in hand as he reads by candle light. Not something he does often, but every now and then he likes to indulge himself. He glances up when there’s a knock at the door. Bidding them to enter, he’s not too surprised to see Merlin, though the small part that is, is only surprised by the fact that he is here so soon. He’d expected it to take much longer than this.

“Merlin.” He greets, setting his book down and dragging his legs over the bed until he is seated on the edge, taking in the fidgeting warlock that stands by his now closed door. “What can I do for you?” He asks, neutrally.

“I’m…sorry about before. I took out my pain on you and I…” He stops when Gwaine holds up his hand, looking confused.

“Merlin, if there is one thing I want, it is for you to never feel guilty for taking comfort from me. I knew that that might happen and that you would need it to be able to heal. There is nothing to be ashamed of.”

“You mean you did it out of pity?” He asked, voice sounding hurt at the implication that Gwaine had only felt compelled by pity to sleep with him.

Gwaine couldn’t help the smirk at the way Merlin was a little annoyed by this thought. “Oh, contrary to what you think, I very much wanted that to happen, but some things come before sex and that is my friendship to you. I would rather be celibate than risk you hating me.”

Merlin was trembling slightly as he finished speaking. “I don’t want to hurt anymore.”

“I know.” He held his arms open and Merlin walked forward, nearly flinging himself into his arms, his shaking increasing. “Shh, I know it hurts, but sometimes, something must hurt you before you can truly get over it.”

“Gwaine, do you love me?” He asked softly, looking up through wet lashes and his dark fringe.

“Yes, I have since fate first had us cross paths, though I didn’t realize it at the time.” He admitted, tightening his hold on the broken man, using sheer will alone to keep him together.

“Will you show me?” He begged him, eyes glassy with tears.

“If that is what you want.”

“It is.” He nodded slightly.

Gwaine just bent down bringing their faces closer together, breathing him in before pressing forward. That night they came together for a second time. It was gentler than the last time. Gwaine, with each touch, caress, kiss, poured all his heart, his soul, his love into the broken warlock, filling in the holes and cracks that had been left behind. Slowly, he filled him to the brim, until he overflowed with all that Gwaine could give him and more and when they reached their peaks, it was Gwaine’s name he called out, dragging the knight down to kiss him, arms wrapped around him like bands of steel to keep him there.

~*~

With dawn brought wakefulness and awareness. He was aware of the warm weight that was wrapped around his side, a head resting on his shoulder, aware of the soft breathing that was peaceful like it hadn’t been for a while now.

He was still staring at the sleeping warlock when the door burst open, a harried looking Arthur barging in, calling out Gwaine’s name. The blonde froze as he took in the sight before him, Gwaine staring up at him from his bed, Merlin still asleep after all the noise, unaware of what was happening at the moment.

It was as he stared at his king that saw the tense set of his shoulders leave, as if some weight he had been carrying for some time was finally lifted. Gwaine blinked as it dawned him that Arthur looked unsurprised by this scene. In fact he looked happy. Which meant that Arthur had known all along, about Merlin.

“Later then.” He said softly, turning and leaving before Gwaine had a chance to recover and question the blonde.

~*~

What Magic and Strength didn’t know was that Courage had known for some time about Magic’s feelings towards him. He knew that nothing could come of it, that he would only end up hurting Magic should they even try.

So Courage had feigned obliviousness and had fractured just as much as Magic. It hurt to see the warlock so broken, but he knew something else as well. That were Courage failed, Strength would be there to hold Magic up and be there in ways that Courage never could.

So Courage left Magic in the hands of Strength, knowing that without Magic, he would have been lost long before now. He only hoped that fate would be as thoughtful as he had been, but some things would have to wait for the future.

**End.**

**Author's Note:**

> Finally finished. I know it was a bit odd sounding at the end, but I was just trying to finish this damn thing so, if it sounds strange, then blame it on the fact that it was 12 at night when I finished typing this up. Hope you enjoyed it as much as I did writing it.


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